


Gallows Humor

by Emono



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gallows Humor, Husbands, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Type1Diabetic!Nix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 15:50:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10030148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emono/pseuds/Emono
Summary: Lewis is having one of his bad days. Thankfully, Dick is there to help.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Nixon canonically had diabetes complications and it got me thinking about my own situation. Here's some indulgent fluff/angst to make myself get out of bed

When Dick left for work, Lewis was sleepy eyed and finishing off the extra bacon he’d made for his breakfast. He was in his sleep sweats and looked rather ruffled but otherwise seemed fine. But when Dick got home his husband had pulled a one-eighty. He found Lewis curled up in bed under their electric blanket and he seemed to be halfway through a season of _Hoarders_ on their big screen. He had Dick’s old F&M hoodie on with the hood pulled up to cover most of his wild nest of dark hair. His eyes were glistening and his mouth slack, expression completely blank as he stared at the TV.

 

“Sweetheart?” Dick crooned as he crawled into bed, laying a hand on his husband’s hip. The blanket was turned pretty up high and he could feel the heat rolling off it. “You alright?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

The monotone sent a flutter of fear through Dick’s heart. He sat beside his husband and rubbed his side, looking around the house for any signs that he’d moved. There was no trash, no medicine, not even an empty water bottle. Lewis usually had a giant water bottle with the Penguins logo on it around, but it was nowhere in sight. “Why don’t you try to explain it to me?”

 

Lewis’s mouth opened and closed a few times but nothing came out.

 

“Tell me how you feel,” Dick urged. “Is it your sugar?”

 

“I don’t know,” Lewis murmured, voice thready as his eyes flickered down to the bedspread.

 

“Have you checked recently?”  
  
  
  
“It’s been up and down all day,” Lewis admitted, the blanket bunching as he fisted it. His lashes fluttered and a tear leaked down to his temple and disappeared into the hood. "Am I drunk? Is it depression? Is it diabetes? Who fucking knows anymore? I'm broken."  
  
  
"You're not broken."

  
  
“I’m so tired, Dick.”

 

“I know, sweetheart.” His heart ached in sympathy. He dug his phone out of his pocket and readied to call his husband’s endocrinologist or an ambulance. “Tell me exactly what’s wrong so I can help you.”

 

“You can’t help me,” Lewis huffed bitterly. “You could help by divorcing my sick ass and finding some healthy girl who can give you a family and won’t waste away into a sack of shit.”

 

“Lewis,” Dick bit out impatiently. They’d had this conversation a hundred times since the doctor’s visit that had cemented their future.

 

“One day we might even have to stop fucking because I’ll be a brittle bag of stupid-”

 

“Did you take your Prozac?” Dick asked suddenly, eyeing the missing spot on the bedstand where it usually sat. “You switched to taking it in the morning, remember?”

 

“I don’t need an antidepressant, I need to do myself a favor and eat a gun,” Lewis drawled.

 

Dick sighed and dropped a kiss on his husband’s covered shoulder. He was overly familiar with the gallows humor and the hollow threats of violence. Lewis had never had a genuine suicidal thought in his life but recently the pain and drag of life had gotten so bad that he’d started making off-hand comments about being dead. It had scared Dick down to his bones the first time he heard it and they’d had a huge blow up over it but with time he’d learned it was just words. It was pure desperation and all Lewis Nixon knew how to do was talk. It was a defense mechanism, a way to cope, but it still broke his heart to hear it.

 

“Who’s going to marry me at thirty-five, Lew?” Dick snarked. “I’m over the hill. You’d seriously leave me alone with the mortgage and the dog?” He sat up straighter and looked around for their corgi. “Where’s Hershey at anyway?”

 

“I didn’t want him to see me like this,” Lewis muttered, scowling as the family on screen started yelling at one another. “He’s in the back yard.”

 

Dick leaned over him and made a hurt little noise as he saw fresh tears fall from his husband’s vacant eyes. He laid his forehead on his shoulder and heaved a sigh, gathering his strength. Once he’d steeled himself he sat up and petted down his covered arm, his back, finally settling at his hip. “How about you tell me what exactly hurts or doesn’t feel good and we decide to go from there?”

 

Lewis closed his eyes for a few moments before he spoke again. “My chest hurts. My knees hurt. My right hand is cold.” The blanket swelled up for a moment as he flopped his hand. “I can’t...bare the thought of sitting up. I don’t want to do anything. I’m so _tired_.” The word crackled across his tongue in the start of a sob but he swallowed it down. “But I can’t sleep. I don’t want to eat, makes me sick to think about it.”

 

Lewis took a deep breath before curling up tighter, bringing the heated blanket up to his mouth. “So figure it out from just that, Sherlock. If you need me, I’ll be waiting for Death’s sweet embrace.”

 

“It sounds like one of your lowkey panic attacks plus high blood sugar,” Dick stated matter-of-factly. His husband scowled and curled up more but Dick rubbed his hip firmly. “You have to take your medicine and check your sugar.”

“Please don’t.”  
  
  
  
The broken, heartfelt plea made Dick sick down to his stomach. Pain etched across his husband’s face and not for the first time he wished it were him sick instead.

 

“Lew, baby…”

 

“It’s gonna _hurt_ ,” Lewis whined, brushing his sleeve across wet eyes. “Please, Dick?”

  
“You have to.”

 

“No more shots,” Lewis rasped, rubbing his face on the damp sleeve. “My whole body hurts. Don’t… no more shots, don’t make me do it.”

 

“I’ll do it,” Dick soothed.

“ _No_.”

 

“Okay, Lew, I’ll make you a deal,” Dick began patiently. “I’ll get you some water and your pill; I’ll check your sugar and give you your shot if you need it.” His husband’s breath hitched in another sob but he hurried on. “ _And_ in return I’ll massage your knees and your back. I’ll go get you whatever you want to eat in the whole world and then we’ll lay here as long as you want. Does that sound good?”

 

Lewis sniffled and turned over on his back, blinking up at him with tear-clumped lashes. “Anything I want?”

 

“Anything.”

 

“Even fried chicken?”  
  
  
  
“Especially fried chicken.”

  
“And you’ll rub my legs as long as I want?”

 

“All night, if that’s what you want,” Dick assured him. “I’d be happy to do it.”

 

Lewis wriggled and fussed for a few moments before finally going still and sighing. “Okay. _Fine_. But you have to move me around for all the poking. It’s warm under here.”

 

“No problem, sweetheart. You just relax.”

  
  
  
  



End file.
